The lord has given, the Lord has taken away.
“he’s not home”
“do you know where he went?”
“to herd none of his sheep”
You weren´t crying about mother.
Were crying because can't get your shadow to stick on.
Anyway, you weren´t crying.
(Peter Pan, Act 1)
CHILDHOOD ISN’T SOMETHING YOU CAN HAVE.
although
YOU CAN LOSE IT
It will only be real and intense when it detaches from the stalk and its essence dries.
returning to the garden in the evening
shouting ready or not
and waiting twenty years to say
olly olly oxen free
You picked out mother’s dress. It was black.
Use lipstick
to make people like you
“Where does this blooming come from?”
From time.
“No. From your need to relive what you don’t even remember”.
You pay them in memory, unstable currency of each and every day.
[it’s real when they say it]
You longed to be like her, whinnying in the storm, swimming the seas of the continent.
Alone
amid marble steps
You shiver in the living room
and assume the irreversible:
“No one’s going to find you here if you don’t make noise, not even the one you make when you suck in your boogers.”
You weren´t crying about mother.
Were crying because can't get your shadow to stick on.
Anyway, you weren´t crying.
(Peter Pan, Act 1)
returning to the garden in the evening
shouting ready or not
and waiting twenty years to say
olly olly oxen free
The lord has given, the Lord has taken away.
It will only be real and intense when it detaches from the stalk and its essence dries.
“he’s not home”
“do you know where he went?”
“to herd none of his sheep”
You picked out mother’s dress. It was black.
You pay them in memory, unstable currency of each and every day.
[it’s real when they say it]
CHILDHOOD ISN’T SOMETHING YOU CAN HAVE.
although
YOU CAN LOSE IT
Use lipstick
to make people like you
“Where does this blooming come from?”
From time.
“No. From your need to relive what you don’t even remember”.
You longed to be like her, whinnying in the storm, swimming the seas of the continent.
Alone
amid marble steps
You shiver in the living room
and assume the irreversible:
Arid on his crown, he picks up the brush with his guitar fingers. Blue now, the mane keeps growing, or could it be the skin drying out?
“No one’s going to find you here if you don’t make noise, not even the one you make when you suck in your boogers.”
from the same arm of the scales
You satiate childhood with fables of fountains
but what if she comes one day and you’re gone?
I don’t give
I ask him
like the lord
who has taken away
the lord has taken away
One moment of silence.
Recently you saw a wild plant growing on her grave.
It couldn’t be found because he took it with him.
You weren´t crying about mother.
Were crying because can't get your shadow to stick on.
Anyway, you weren´t crying.
(Peter Pan, Act 1)
returning to the garden in the evening
shouting ready or not
and waiting twenty years to say
olly olly oxen free
You picked out mother’s dress. It was black.
The lord has given, the Lord has taken away.
It will only be real and intense when it detaches from the stalk and its essence dries.
You pay them in memory, unstable currency of each and every day.
[it’s real when they say it]
Use lipstick
to make people like you
Arid on his crown, he picks up the brush with his guitar fingers. Blue now, the mane keeps growing, or could it be the skin drying out?
from the same arm of the scales
You satiate childhood with fables of fountains
I don’t give
I ask him
like the lord
who has taken away
the lord has taken away
“he’s not home”
“do you know where he went?”
“to herd none of his sheep”
You longed to be like her, whinnying in the storm, swimming the seas of the continent.
Alone
amid marble steps
You shiver in the living room
and assume the irreversible:
“No one’s going to find you here if you don’t make noise, not even the one you make when you suck in your boogers.”
It couldn’t be found because he took it with him.
CHILDHOOD ISN’T SOMETHING YOU CAN HAVE.
although
YOU CAN LOSE IT
but what if she comes one day and you’re gone?
One moment of silence.
Recently you saw a wild plant growing on her grave.
returning to the garden in the evening
shouting ready or not
and waiting twenty years to say
olly olly oxen free
You weren´t crying about mother.
Were crying because can't get your shadow to stick on.
Anyway, you weren´t crying.
(Peter Pan, Act 1)
You picked out mother’s dress. It was black.
The lord has given, the Lord has taken away.
It will only be real and intense when it detaches from the stalk and its essence dries.
Use lipstick
to make people like you
You pay them in memory, unstable currency of each and every day.
You longed to be like her, whinnying in the storm, swimming the seas of the continent.
Alone
amid marble steps
You shiver in the living room
and assume the irreversible:
“he’s not home”
“do you know where he went?”
“to herd none of his sheep”
returning to the garden in the evening
shouting ready or not
and waiting twenty years to say
olly olly oxen free
You weren´t crying about mother.
Were crying because can't get your shadow to stick on.
Anyway, you weren´t crying.
(Peter Pan, Act 1)
You picked out mother’s dress. It was black.
The lord has given, the Lord has taken away.
It will only be real and intense when it detaches from the stalk and its essence dries.
You pay them in memory, unstable currency of each and every day.
[it’s real when they say it]
“he’s not home”
“do you know where he went?”
“to herd none of his sheep”
Arid on his crown, he picks up the brush with his guitar fingers. Blue now, the mane keeps growing, or could it be the skin drying out?
CHILDHOOD ISN’T SOMETHING YOU CAN HAVE.
although
YOU CAN LOSE IT
Use lipstick
to make people like you
from the same arm of the scales
You satiate childhood with fables of fountains
You weren´t crying about mother.
Were crying because can't get your shadow to stick on.
Anyway, you weren´t crying.
(Peter Pan, Act 1)
The lord has given, the Lord has taken away.
“he’s not home”
“do you know where he went?”
“to herd none of his sheep”
It will only be real and intense when it detaches from the stalk and its essence dries.
Use lipstick
to make people like you
returning to the garden in the evening
shouting ready or not
and waiting twenty years to say
olly olly oxen free
You picked out mother’s dress. It was black.
You pay them in memory, unstable currency of each and every day.
You longed to be like her, whinnying in the storm, swimming the seas of the continent.
[it’s real when they say it]
Arid on his crown, he picks up the brush with his guitar fingers. Blue now, the mane keeps growing, or could it be the skin drying out?
from the same arm of the scales
You satiate childhood with fables of fountains
Alone
amid marble steps
You shiver in the living room
and assume the irreversible:
visualize the voice of thought.
think the image of the voice.
provoke destiny. play.
from chance, from the sigh.
understand the force that links
the image to the name.
the name is an image.
the image is a verb.
play. nothing is chance.
destiny is a game.
everything is destiny.
—